


Over Again

by avenging_cap



Category: The Song of Achilles - Madeline Miller
Genre: Achilles is a football player, Alternate Universe - Greek Mythology, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Angst with a Happy Ending, M/M, a lot like the book's ending, post-college, rewritten ending, well sort of happy...
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-19
Updated: 2017-08-19
Packaged: 2018-12-17 11:14:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11850423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/avenging_cap/pseuds/avenging_cap
Summary: Patroclus dies on the battlefield at Hector's hand. Only this time, he is turned into a tree at the moment of his death. However, his roots grow in an unexpected place, and he wakes up to find Achilles' doppelganger. Could there be more to this New Achilles than a simple resemblance to the Achilles of old? Could this be a part of the Fates' larger plan for the world?





	Over Again

**Author's Note:**

> I apologize for any inaccuracies! I pretty much took what I got from the book and did my own thing with it, so it may not be 100% true to Greek Mythology or The Song of Achilles. Sorry!! But enjoy this extra angsty continuation of their epic love story!

The first thing I see is the sky. I have seen it before many times: on the beach, from my spot lying on the sand; from the top of a mountain; from the olive groves. But I have not seen it in a long time now.

 

I do not know how long it has been. It feels like only a moment has passed since I last saw him. Since my feet turned into roots and my arms into branches.

 

The last thing I remember is dying, and seeing someone, tall and slender, throw a rush of wind at me. Then I have limbs of a different kind.

 

The sky has not changed much since I last saw it. It is still blue and clear. It still expands in all directions. Perhaps I only have missed a moment. Perhaps he is under my shaded branches, waiting for something to change.

 

But Achilles is not here.

 

I chance a look down at my body to find that nothing has changed there, either.

 

The only obvious change is my location. The battlefield that had once surrounded me is gone. I see tall, sharp objects lining the horizon in the distance. Around me is a small town, just on the border of the sea. The houses are built with materials I do not know of.

 

This is how I know I have lost him.

 

I run.

 

I run to the sea. I scream for Thetis, to ask her of Achilles' fate. She does not come.

 

A ship is on the horizon.

 

It nears. This is not a ship I know. It is large, bigger than anything I have ever seen, and silver.

 

I run.

 

I run to the village. I do not stop until I cannot breathe any longer.

 

“Are you okay?” A voice asks.

 

“Yes.” I look up in the direction of the voice, the first person I will have talked to in this second life.

 

It is a boy, with golden hair and a natural brightness to him. He looks to be about my age. I gasp. _Achilles._

 

“Are you sure?” He smiles, reacting to my gasp.

 

“Where am I?”

 

“Phthia. Have you been here before?” The boy’s voice is gentle, reassuring.

 

I take in a sharp breath. Why did my roots grow here?

 

“Yes. I know Phthia well.”

 

He nods.

 

“Tell me, what year is this?”

 

“Two thousand seventeen.” He says simply, as if this is something I should know. “Did you hit your head or something?”

 

“Some thing like that.”

 

He extends his hand to help me up. I gratefully take it. “Let’s get you cleaned up.” He leads me to his home. I do not have time to marvel at what it may be made of.

 

The boy gathers up some clothes and hands them to me. “The bathroom is right around the corner.”

 

“Thank you.” I round the corner and step into the “bathroom”. I jump when I catch sight of myself.

 

There is a tall mirror on the wall in front of me. It is surely the most prominent piece in the room.

 

My tunic is brown from the mud and has some long dried blood stains on it. My face is dirty as well. I think of what Achilles might say if he saw me like this, but stop myself. It is too painful to think of him without knowing of his end.

 

Behind me in the mirror I spot a strange seat of sorts, but also do not consider this. Things are different, but I do not want to know more.

 

I change quickly. My new clothes are unusual; the top piece is black with sleeves that only cover my shoulders. It stops at my hips. The bottoms have two layers, but I do not know which goes on top. One is an unsightly pattern of lines crossing each other, so I put that on first. On top I place the rough, blue material. It seems fit to protect me from what I may encounter outside.

 

I open the bathroom door to find the boy standing close by.

 

“What’s your name?” He asks. He speaks in odd, short words, yet I still understand them.

 

“Patroclus.”

 

His eyebrows raise, but he does not question me. “I’m Achilles.”

 

I stare at him, my mouth agape.

 

“I know, I know. My parents are fans of the myths. I get a lot of crap about my name.” He seems to have taken my bewilderment as admiration.

 

“You should not,” I manage to speak, “That is a beautiful name.”

 

He smiles softly. “Thank you, Patroclus.” _Pa-tro-clus._

 

“I am sorry, you spoke of myths. What myths exist about my Achilles?” I wince. It is a habit, to refer to him as that.

 

“I’ll show you.”

 

He leads me to a library and pulls out a few books.

 

“This is the _Iliad_. It’s about the Trojan war over Helen. Have you heard of that one?” He looks at me expectantly. It is a look I would have gotten from Achilles, back then.

 

“Yes, I have heard of it.” _I have more than heard about it._ “What does it say of Achilles?”

 

“It says that he was a great warrior, the best of the Greeks. He died after killing Hector.”

 

“But Hector did nothing to him,” I interrupt.

 

The boy - New Achilles - chuckles. “That’s where you’re wrong, my friend. Hector killed Achilles' closest friend, Patroclus. After that, Achilles went all ape shit on the Trojans. There was this prophecy about him-”

 

“I know of it.”

 

“Well, it’s said that when Achilles killed Hector, he felt at peace. He knew his death would come, and he’d be reunited with his friend.” _We were never so lucky._ “It’s also said that Patroclus may have been more than just a friend to Achilles.” A mischievous gleam takes over his eyes. “It’s like my parents knew I was gay when they named me.”

 

I am taken aback. He is so forward with who he loves. How is he allowed to be?

 

“Your name’s Patroclus, right?” He asks, not waiting for me to respond.

 

“Yes.”

 

“Did your parents like the myths too?”

 

“Some thing like that.”

 

New Achilles picks up another book. “Then more myths came. After the _Iliad_ , people wanted to explain how Achilles had fought so bravely in the war. A popular myth says that his mother, Thetis, dipped him in the river Styx to make him immortal. But she was holding onto his heel when it happened, so he was still mortal there. He only died when someone shot an arrow at his heel.”

 

I scoff. “Who would shoot an arrow at a heel? That is absurd.”

 

New Achilles laughs, throwing his head back. “That’s what I always thought. But it’s a really popular one. Even the _Percy Jackson_ books picked it up.”

 

“Who is Percy Jackson?”

 

“You’ve never read the books?” He jumps up suddenly, and runs to the other side of the library. He pulls out a stack of books and brings them back. His swiftness and easy motion remind me of another Achilles I once knew.

 

My heart feels as though it has been ripped open once more.

 

“Here.” He hands the pile to me. “You can borrow them.”

 

“Thank you.”

 

“Would you like to borrow Achilles' myths too? I’ve read them a bunch of times.”

 

“I would love that.” I watch as New Achilles retrieves more books off the shelves. He moves easily, as though he is swimming through the room. He radiates energy and life. It is almost as if my Achilles never left.

 

He leaves them in a pile next to the _Percy Jackson_ books, then sits next to me again, crossing his legs.

 

“So, Patroclus, where do you live?” He laughs and runs a hand through his hair. “That sounded creepy. I’m sorry. I just mean, where are you from?”

 

I did not know how to answer his question. I did not know if the palace was even still around.

 

“I have only just returned here. I had a home in Phthia once, but I fear that is long gone.”

 

“So you have nowhere to stay?” His brow furrows. He has the same worried lines Achilles once did.

 

“Correct.”

 

He puts a hand on my shoulder, and my skin prickles. It is my first human touch in a long while. “You’re lucky to have found me, then. You can stay here with me.”

 

“I could not overstay my welcome.”

 

“I’ve been looking for a roommate for a while now. I live in an apartment in the city. There are two rooms there, and one’s been empty for...for too long.” His voice is sad, but he quickly brightens up again. “This is my parent’s house. I’m just staying here for the weekend. They won’t mind.”

 

“Thank you, Achilles, but it would be wrong of me-”

 

“It would be wrong of me to leave you with nowhere to stay. Just stay here, Patroclus. Please.” His eyes are pained.

 

Maybe it is because he looks and acts so much like my Achilles. Maybe it is because I still do not know the full extent of what happened to me and him. Maybe it is because of the look in his eyes or the sound of his voice when he mentioned his empty apartment. Or maybe it is because of the prickles in my arm that have not ceased since New Achilles first placed his hand there.

 

Maybe it is because I am lost, but I have found something in him.

 

I agree.

 

He leads me to his room, where he pulls out what he calls an “air mattress” for me to sleep on. It makes a horrid noise as it grows in size. He puts coverings on it and a pillow. Then, almost as an afterthought, lays another set of clothes on the pillow.

 

“Pyjamas,” he explains. I am lost.

 

But he has found me.

 

A door opens, and New Achilles' face grows worried.

 

“My parents are here. I’ll tell them you’re staying over.” He leads me down the stairs.

 

“Achilles, are you home?” A woman’s voice calls out.

 

“Yeah, Mom. I have a guest. Could he stay over?” He asks hesitantly.

 

We turn the corner, and his mother frowns.

 

“Who is this?”

 

“Patroclus,” there is a slight recognition in her face, but nothing more, “a friend from college.”

 

“It’s nice to meet you, Patroclus.” She stumbles over my name, although she has surely read it many times in the stories she holds dear.

 

“It is a pleasure to meet you as well.”

 

The corner of her lip quirks up, almost as if to smile. “Of course Patroclus can stay, dear. Just get out the air mattress.”

 

“Already did.” He reaches up to kiss her on the cheek.

A man comes barreling into the room. “Good to see you’re home, Achilles.” His eyes land on me. “Who’s this?”

 

“Achilles' _friend_ from college. His name is Patroclus.” New Achilles' mother fills him in.

 

His father is not as good at concealing his feelings as his mother is. He clearly recognizes my name. The man’s eyebrows turn up in surprise, and he opens his mouth as if to say something. His mother places a hand on his chest to stop him.

 

“We’re having pasta for dinner tonight. It’ll be ready in about an hour,” She says.

 

“Okay, thanks mom.” New Achilles tugs on my sleeve to lead me back to his room.

 

The time passes quickly before dinner. We speak about our lives before having met. New Achilles explains that he had to tell his parents I was a friend from college because they would never let a stranger into their home. However, he doesn’t mind much.

 

Dinner also passes quickly. I attempt to listen to conversation, but am filled with thoughts of Achilles. My Achilles. The day has moved far too fast for me to think much about any thing.

 

After dinner we go out and lay in the grass. I point out the constellations in the stars. I tell the stories of the Greeks forever embodied in them. I hope that he will interrupt to tell me that my Achilles is made of stars, too. He doesn’t. It does not upset me much. One does not have to be in the stars to be made of stardust.

 

Halfway through my story of Heracles, New Achilles interrupts me.

 

“You know more about the myths than you let on.” He turns his head toward me and smiles.

 

I tear my gaze from the skies to look toward him as well. It is like looking at a whole other sky entirely.  

 

“I know more of  the older myths.” This is true; I only know of myths that came before my own. “Tell me of our story. You say you know it well, as you should, given your namesake.”

 

“Our story?”

 

“Of Achilles and Patroclus, the old ones.”

 

He spins the tales of my youth. These stories are all familiar to me; how we trained with Chiron together, went to Scyros together, went to war together, but did not die together. The Fates were cruel to us, even more cruel to me for bringing me this boy. His image is too close to the original. The Fates had to know that he would only bring me pain.

 

“Patroclus, are you listening?” He interrupts.

 

“No,” I confess. “I am sorry. I have been thinking a great deal. In coming here, I have lost much.”

 

“What did you leave behind?” He asks softly.

 

“A whole life.” I say, but then think to add, “A whole life with my love.”

 

“What were they like?”

 

I am surprised he said _they_ and not _she_. What is this time like, that we do not assume things of our lovers?

 

“He was like the sun. His whole body was alive with an energy I didn’t think I’d ever see again. With him, every thing was easy. We were always honest with each other and thus knew everything about each other.” There was so much more to say, so I went to the most simple thing I knew about Achilles. “I loved him.”

 

“Did he love you?” The question comes out soft. Not nosy and prying as it had from so many others before.

 

“Yes.”

 

“You’re lucky. I’ve never had that before. He…he left before I got the chance.”

 

I remember our earlier conversation. “Are you referring to the empty room in your apartment?”

 

“Bingo. I fell in love with my roommate the second me moved in. He was gorgeous, but he was also the kindest man I’ve ever known. Well, he was kind until he found out about me. He wasn’t too into my lifestyle.”

 

“You mean your love of men?” I ask.

 

He laughs, closing his eyes for a moment. “Yeah, that was a big issue for him. He found out I was gay, realized I liked him, and moved out before I could even say goodbye.”

 

I am silent, not knowing what to say.

 

“You do not have to be alone any more.” I finally say.

 

“Right.” He sighs and sits up. He stretches his arms to the sky as he yawns. “Do you wanna head in?”

 

I nod, and we walk inside. I find that I already know the way to his room myself. His house is not the palace, so it is not difficult to find one’s way around it. Still, I am surprised to see how quickly I have gotten used to this.

 

He instructs me to change into the “pyjamas,” and I reason that people have sleep clothes now. We climb into our respective beds and say our goodnights.

 

This so closely mirrors the way Achilles and I used to sleep. Here, in the dark, I allow myself to think about him. I allow myself to wonder why I am here, in this strange year. I finally consider how different things are. Time slows down.

 

My entire being aches for Achilles. The only comfort is knowing that Achilles got his fame. If he could not be immortal, at least he is immortal in his stories. At least he is famed enough to have children named after him.

 

One of those children is sleeping nearby.

 

I ask the Gods why I am here, with him. I ask for a sign. I ask why they have separated me from my Achilles. I will have to make an offering to them in the morning.

 

I find tears streaming down my face at the thought of Achilles, alone for all these years. I hope he is watching me now.

 

New Achilles stirs in his bed. I have never been a silent weeper.

 

Without speaking, he climbs out of his bed and onto the mattress with me. He pulls me into his arms and traces circles on my back. His arms are strong, and so much like Achilles once felt. This thought brings me pain anew. My tears grow into sobs. I shudder against his body. He holds me tighter. We are entangled in every part.  

 

We do not speak of it the next morning.

 

He tells me that we are to stay here two more days before returning to the city. We spend the first day at the beach, in the water. I think of Achilles all the time. We tan on the beach and share more stories. We take a walk into the woods, and I show him plants and herbs that are used for healing.

 

That night, I find myself sobbing once more. And once again, he climbs into my bed, holding me until sleep takes us both.

 

We go on like this until it is time to leave. I wonder what we will do when there is no sea to occupy us.

 

New Achilles instructs me to put my things in the “car”. I have no idea what he means, but I take the few clothes rationed as mine and follow him out the door.

 

What I see is surprising: a rectangular mass about as large as a horse, with rounded edges. The front of it almost looks as if it is smiling. It is held up by four circular black objects. New Achilles opens the “car” and does something to it. It comes to life in the most unusual way: it shudders and makes angry, growling noises.

 

“Patroclus? Are you okay?” I focus my attention on Achilles, who is looking at me worriedly from the driver’s seat.

 

“Yes, of course.” I manage a smile.

 

He gets out to help me load my things in the back and then opens my door for me.

 

“Just proving chivalry isn’t dead,” he laughs. For the second time today, I have no idea what he is talking about. I begin to feel as though going with him is a mistake.

 

But then he’s smiling at me from the other seat, giving me those eyes that are all too familiar to me. I have only known this Achilles for a few days, but it feels as if I knew him a lifetime ago as well.

 

Suddenly the car is moving. I panic until I realize that Achilles is driving it. _It is just like a chariot_.

 

We do not talk much on the way there, but he puts on music. It is pleasant. Music has changed much in the time I have been gone.

 

“I will have to make an offering to the Gods for good health in our new home,” I realize aloud.

 

New Achilles looks away from the road and glances at me incredulously. “The Gods? Do they still worship them in your village?” His voice is only full of genuine interest; this Achilles is also incapable of making me feel stupid.

 

“Do you not?”

 

“Most of Greece stopped a long, long time ago. Some remote villages still do.” He explains, voice kind.

 

I cross my arms over my chest. “Oh.” And then after a moment, “I jest. You know I am old fashioned. I thought it would make a worthy joke.”

 

“It did.” He smiles, reassuring.

 

That is the last of our speaking on the ride to Phthia. I do not mind, for I am lost in thought about the Gods. Were the people abandoned, or were the Gods?

 

My thoughts are at last interrupted by what seem to be buildings, higher even than the ship I had seen on my first day. They slice into the sky like knives into bread.

 

“Welcome to Phthia. You were already sort of there, but the suburbs are different than the city.” He looks over once more at my confusion. If he suspects anything, he does not show it. “Is this your first time in a city?”

 

“Yes.” I say simply.

 

“You’ll love it.”

 

Despite New Achilles' thoughts, I do not find the city easy to like in my first days there. It is far too crowded with people and things. The lights are also far too bright; there are large rectangles that radiate as much light as the sun.

 

Our apartment is small:  just a kitchen, living room, and two bedrooms. It has a wonderful view of the city, though. New Achilles calls it beautiful, but it takes me a long time to see any beauty in the sprawling buildings.

 

To try to help me get used to it, he takes me all over the city. We eat many types of food. I have not ever heard of most of the things we eat, but they are all delicious.

 

My room at home is small compared to my old room with Achilles, and even the room I shared with New Achilles not long ago. Therefore I spend most of my time alone in the living room, staring out the window. There is something called a “television”, a large, hulking rectangle that displays images and plays. I do not know how to use it, so I can only use it when New Achilles is around.

 

Which isn’t much. He goes to work during the week, and on the weekends he is home. He had to explain how weeks work. He does not understand why most concepts are so foreign to me, but he explains them nonetheless. And he never asks questions. That I appreciate.

 

He tells me that he works as a professional sports player. When I ask him if I need to work, he answers that he makes enough money for the both of us.

 

“It feels  wrong spending all this money on only myself. If I can use it to help you out, I will,” he’d said.

 

I wonder about the Gods often. I wonder where they went, what happened for them to abandon a whole civilization.

 

This is what I am doing today when  New Achilles bursts through the door. He does this every day; he never simply enters a room, but makes his presence known to it.

 

“I have a gift for you!” His eyes are alight with excitement as he sits down next to me on the couch.

 

“I have not done any thing worthy of receiving a gift,” I say. His charity is too much; I do not deserve it.

 

“You’re my friend. It’s enough.”

 

I take the package in my hands carefully and unwrap it. I recognize the object as a “phone”. New Achilles uses it to communicate with others.

 

“Thank you, Achilles. I will need help using it. I’ve never had a phone like this before.” I stumble over the foreign word, but am proud of myself for trying.

 

“Of course.” He slings an arm around me lazily. “It’s friday and I have something special planned!”

 

He does. New Achilles spends all night in the kitchen while I watch a play on the television. My stomach grumbles often. The smell coming from the small kitchen is divine.

 

We sit by the window and enjoy our meal: spaghetti pasta with pink sauce and vegetables. Talking has always come easy to us, and we stay by the window long after our plates are cleared.

 

He tells me that he has one more thing planned: _S’mores_. They are warm and gooey and sweet. We fill mugs with coffee to wash down the sweetness. We are silent now, staring out the window. Contemplating. As I have done so many times before, in almost a past life, I turn my gaze to New Achilles.

 

The soft light frames his features and gives his hair a soft glow. I feel a familiar twinge in my stomach. I have grown to love this Achilles, but simply as a friend. I do not think I could ever love anyone besides my Achilles. Our connection was too strong; it survives even in death.

 

“Do you still love him?” This Achilles says.

 

“Yes.” I cannot lie to him.

 

His grip on his mug tightens, but he does not show his pain in his face.

 

“Ours was an epic love. It would be betrayal to find another,” I explain. I do not expect this to help New Achilles now.

 

He nods.

 

After a lifetime of silence, he speaks. “Are you over it yet? The pain, I mean. Because I feel like my pain will never go away.”

 

“My pain has not left me.” I think of all the nights spent weeping. Since we moved in here, I have been alone to suffer.

 

Achilles laughs dejectedly. “That sounds like a whole lot of fun.”

 

I let out a short laugh. It is the opposite of fun.

 

Thinking about my Achilles like this makes my longing for him even stronger. Tonight will likely be full of sobbing. I think about the feeling of sobs rocking my body, with nothing to steady me. I do not wish to feel that tonight.

 

“I do not feel like being alone tonight.” I admit, finally looking at Achilles.

 

His eyes search mine, as if they are making a decision of some sort.  “Me neither.”

 

“Then why should we be?” My voice is quiet.

 

We clean up the table and go to our respective rooms to dress. I still prefer sleeping naked, but tonight I put on the pyjamas Achilles has given me.

 

I look at myself in the long mirror hanging from the back of my door. My eyes droop with sleep, and my hair is mussed. I try to see myself as Achilles once did. I try to understand why _Aristos Achaion_ would choose me. I fail.

 

With one last glance in the mirror, I enter New Achilles' room. His bed is bigger, I reason.

 

I wordlessly climb in beside him, saying goodnight and waiting for the tears to come. They do not.

 

We pass the days like this for a long time, spending the nights together often. The days pass into months, which pass into a year. New Achilles becomes less new to me, more like _just_ Achilles. I pick up some of his slang, and understand his world better. In the fall, his work schedule changes. I go to his games on Sundays. I do not understand the game, but it is a joy to watch him play.

 

He tells me he is a “quarterback”, the leader of the team. He also says he is not supposed to run much, but he does anyway. Watching him run is just like watching my Achilles fight in battle. It is effortless and graceful.

 

Sometimes I stand on the sidelines, and he smiles and waves at me during the game. When he’s finished, I am always the first he greets.

 

Things are simple and comfortable.

 

Until the dreams come.

 

One night I see Thetis, standing at the edge of the shore, beckoning me to join her in the depths of the water.

 

Next I see Apollo, jesting with me. _I got rid of your Achilles_ , he sneers.

 

Then I see Zeus himself. He asks me for help. Asks me to forgive him for leaving us. Asks me to bring him back. I scream that I do not know how. He says, _soon._

 

I awake to a cold pillow that morning. Achilles has practice early today, so I’m alone. I dress quickly, attempting to shed my latest dream along with the clothes that accompanied it.

 

I look in the mirror. How can Zeus expect me to help him when I barely look Greek myself? I wear loose-fitting jeans with rips in them. They are rolled at my ankle. _Art student couture_ , Achilles had said, smiling up at me as he shortened them. The jeans stop just before my high topped sneakers. My sweater is far too big also.

 

Today I go to the park. I always think better when I am surrounded by nature.

 

When I return, I begin dinner.  I have learned many new recipes in the time I have alone here.

 

I don’t know how much time has passed when the door opens.

 

“Honey, I’m home!” Achilles yells, as he does every day. I feel the warmth return to my body.

 

He sets down his things before coming over to embrace me. This is my favorite Achilles. Not even sleeping Achilles tops post-practice Achilles. His golden hair now reaches the end of his jaw, and he has tied it up carelessly behind him. He wears an old shirt, one of the ones I used to wear during the beginning of my time here.

 

Seeing him like this makes me want to tell him about the dreams. It makes me want to sit down with him and trace the lines his jaw creates. It makes me want to sit down with him and never get up.

 

But it would be wrong. Anyone but my Achilles would be wrong.

 

So I don’t.

 

I stir the risotto one last time.

 

“How was practice?” I ask, scooping it onto a plate.

 

“It was good. I think I did okay.” He places the plate at my seat and bumps his hip against mine. It’s a sign that I’m mothering him.

 

I reluctantly sit down as he scoops his own plate.

 

“That’s good.”

 

We’ve been worried about the trade deadline. It is steadily approaching, and no player is safe. Except, according to most sportscasters, Achilles. He doesn’t believe it.

 

We talk of sweet nothings as we eat and later, clean up. It almost feels as if I’m back in Chiron’s cave, falling in love for the first time. It is hard to make distinctions between this Achilles and the old one. We fall into our routine: watch netflix, brush teeth, go to sleep.

 

That night, the prophecy comes.

 

_Two preserved to bring their return,_

_One unknowing, One well aware,_

_Both must know before the end,_

_So their Deaths can bring them Glory and Peace,_

_And restore Olympus to its rightful place._

 

I sit up in bed. Achilles does not stir. He is a heavy sleeper.

 

 _Achilles_.

 

What if the similarities are more than just similarities? 

 

_One unknowing._

 

It’s him. It has to be him.

 

_Both must know before the end._

 

How can I remind him? How can I bring his memories back?

 

My days are consumed with planning. To get Achilles back to himself. To give us our rest.

 

After a week, I still do not know what to do. The dreams have ceased, and I worry that the Gods will make me do this alone.

 

One night I have a new kind of dream.

 

We are in the rose quartz cave again. It is the night Achilles told me that his mother could not see us there. It was our first night together.

 

I awake next to New Achilles filled with ideas, and a few other feelings I do my best to shove down.

 

I will take him to Mount Pelion. I don’t even know if the cave is still there, but the mountain itself should be enough to bring back his memories.

 

It doesn’t take much to convince him. He loves nature and hiking, and is glad I want to leave the house. We leave the following weekend, driving up to the mountain in the early morning and beginning our hike.

 

“Which trail do you want to take?” he asks. We stand in front of a large map that is sprawling with paths.

 

I try to remember where the cave was, and then I spot it: _The Chiron Trail_.

 

“The Chiron Trail.” I say it breathlessly. “We love mythology, right? It’s perfect.”

 

Achilles' eyes light up. “Let’s go.”

 

We hike for most of the day without stopping. There’s no rush; we have brought things for an overnight camp if needed. I just hope to find the cave.

 

Along the way, I point out things to Achilles based on my knowledge of the forest. I find that I could never forget Chiron’s teachings.

 

The sun is down by the time we reach the summit.

 

“It’s really beautiful up here,” Achilles says. I do not remember how long it’s been since we’ve spoken; we’ve both been lost in our own thoughts. “Should we turn back or camp out for the night?”

 

My heart sinks. The thought of turning back after we had come this far physically hurts me.

 

“I was hoping to find a cave I have been hearing about. Perhaps we could look around a little more before returning home?” I can’t hide the hopefulness in my voice.

 

“Sure, buddy, whatever you want.” Achilles nods to me to lead the way. I do.

 

It’s harder to see now that the sun has gone down, but I have a strong feeling we’re going in the right direction.

 

Just as I’m considering this, the path in front of me begins  to glow. It’s subtle at first, growing stronger each second. I can see it expanding on before us, ending at the dark mouth of a cave.

 

I have only one explanation for this: The Gods.

 

It has to be them! They want Achilles back as bad as I do!

 

“Whoa,” I breathe, “Do you see that?”

 

Achilles has stopped moving beside me and is blinking repeatedly. “What’s doing that?”

 

“The Gods.” I say without hesitation. I look to him for recognition, hoping that this little show of magic from Olympus would be enough to remind him. But the only look on his face is of awe.

 

“They’re long gone,” he says, not sounding like he believes it.

 

I say nothing, but continue along the trail. _The cave,_ I think,   _the cave will bring him back._ My heart races at the idea of having my Achilles back. It has been so long. Too long.

 

We arrive at the cave faster than I expected.

 

“Is this it?” He asks me, still bewildered at the thought of having help from the Gods.

 

I nod, shakily walking deeper inside. So many memories were made here. Their ghosts swirl around me, clouding my vision, fogging my mind. I shake them away.  I have to be here, now. For Achilles.

 

I watch as Achilles’ eyes scour the cave walls. All of Chiron’s things are gone, but the Rose-Quartz remains. It is still as beautiful as the day I left it.

 

We set up camp in silence, both of us still shaken from the glowing path. We’ve brought two sleeping bags, I realize. It will be the first time we have not slept together in months.

 

As we eat what we’ve brought along, I tell stories about my time here. Achilles is surprised I know so much; he says he’s never heard of these stories before. That’s because no one thought they were good enough to write down.

 

When we lie down in our sleeping bags, huddling together for warmth, I begin the story that is sure to jog his memory.

 

It is the story of the night Thetis came to visit Achilles. The night we discovered that we had privacy. The night we discovered each other.

 

“So they _were_ lovers...” He trails off, seemingly lost in thought.

 

He still does not remember. _Why?_ I scream to the Gods. _How do I make him remember?”_

 

We fall asleep as our conversation turns into silence.

 

Thetis visits me in my dreams.

 

 _Show him your love. A memory is not enough for him to remember._ She’s pleading with me.

 

 _Why do you care?_ I say back.

 

_I just want my son to have his rest. Give him his rest._

 

I wake up in a cold sweat. Achilles and I fell asleep talking, so our bodies are curled toward each other, faces close.

 

How do I show him my love?

 

I think of a movie I watched with Achilles. How Snow White was awoken from her eternal sleep with a kiss. I consider it -- but it’s far too cheesy. Not for real life.

 

Achilles’ eyes flutter open, and I realized I’ve been staring.

 

“What?” He yawns. “Is something wrong?”

 

I’m going to be honest with him.

 

“Yes. You don’t know who you are.”

 

“What? Patroclus, what are you saying?”

 

 _Pa-tro-clus_. He needs to remember.

 

“You’re Achilles.” He opens his mouth to object. “No. Let me speak! You are _the_ Achilles. And I am _the_ Patroclus. When I died, I grew into a tree - like that girl in _Percy Jackson_ you love so much! - and I was preserved. You were reincarnated. If you remember who you are, then we’ll die! We will finally get our rest together. And the Gods will return to Mount Olympus! Why do you think the path glowed? They wanted you here. They wanted you _back_.”

 

He’s scrambling out of his sleeping bag and moving away. “Patroclus…”

 

“I sound insane! But there’s a prophecy… _Two preserved to bring their return, One unknowing, One well aware, Both must know before the end, So their Deaths can bring them Glory and Peace, And restore Olympus to its rightful place._ ” I’m yelling. I want him to remember.

 

He looks scared.

 

 _Show him your love_.

 

This was not how it was meant to be done.

 

“Achilles, do you like me?”

 

“Before you went crazy and told me I was _Aristos Achaion_ , yes. I liked you very much.” he laughs softly. “You’re my best friend.”

 

I sigh. “Achilles, I _love_ you. I love how you’re different than the old Achilles, but still the same in so many ways. I love how you still get that crinkle on your forehead when you’re anxious. I love that you’re still stubborn, and won’t do anything you don’t believe in. I love everything about you. I always have, and I always will. And if you think that I am crazy, so be it. We will--”

 

“Oh my god, just shut up and kiss me already.” Achilles commands.

 

So I do. I trace his jawline with my fingertips, realizing it feels the same as always. He is soft but strong and everything I need. It’s just like before, the years melting away from the heat that we make. Maybe Snow White wasn’t so wrong after all.

 

We jump apart as someone appears in the cave. It is Thetis.

 

“You remember.” It’s a statement, not a question. Her eyes are fixed on her son.

 

I look at him too, and I see the recognition in his face. It seems as though it has all hit him at once, like the tidal waves we used to play in as children.

 

“I do.”

 

Now she turns to me. “Thank you, Patroclus. Olympus is restored.”

 

“You are welcome.”

 

“I’ll leave you two alone. It is time you got some rest.” She shimmers until she has faded away.

 

Achilles’ eyes are shining. “If I had known...we could have been together all this time.”

 

I take his hands. “We have eternity to be together.”

 

We do.

 

We lie down in the cave for the last time.

 

“I love you, Patroclus.” Achilles says, pressing a kiss to the back of my hand.

 

“I love you more, Achilles.”

 

Then we close our eyes, once and for all.

 

****

 

Now, as the stories go, there lies a gravestone in the center of the rose-quartz cave. It reads

 

_ACHILLES PELIDES AND PATROCLUS CHIRONIDES_

_SAVIORS OF OLYMPUS_

 

Many make the trek up Mount Pelion, but few are able to find the fabled cave and the gravesite of the two heroes.

 

However, legend says that if two lovers seek out the cave, they will find it if their love is pure, long lasting, and true. Just like the love of Achilles and Patroclus.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed!  
> Find me on [tumblr](stevvenrogers.tumblr.com)


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